


Paradigm Shift

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: Well, Mitch tells himself, that just happened.





	Paradigm Shift

 

Mitch stumbles out of the room breathing hard. He managed to keep his cool long enough to mumble something—he thinks he said, “Not this time, guys, but thanks for the offer”, which was really _not_ what he meant, but whatever. The important thing is that he’s out of the room and into the hall of the hotel.

 

“Breathe, Marns,” he tells himself when he realizes that he’s seeing black dots in his field of vision. They look like little frantic flies, which is kind of weird, and he’s really not in the mood for tripping right now.

 

It doesn't help, the self-talk: he’s breathing, yes, because, like, basic human necessity in order to ensure survival, but everything is the same. His heart is beating so fast that he feels like he just double-shifted for three rounds of playoffs, he’s blushing furiously—he can fucking tell, and so can the inhabitants of the moons of Uranus—and whatever is going on in his stomach has never happened before. It’s like there is a herd of gazelles running from a pride of lions in there.

 

_Well,_ Mitch tells himself, _that just happened._

 

The moans coming from the room he just left brings his attention back to his surroundings and, making sure that no one sees him, Mitch makes his away to his room, three doors down the hall.

 

After pulling this keycard out of his pocket, Mitch has to try three times before he manages to fit it into the appropriate slot. He lets himself into his room and a cursory glance reveals that Brownie, with whom he’s rooming on this trip, hasn't come back from the bar where the team is celebrating their win over the Stars.

 

That’s where Mitch should be too, out celebrating with his teammates. But he’d felt tired—he’d been run into the board more times than he’s liked—and he’d wanted to go back to the hotel and chill. That isn't happening any time soon, now.

 

“Breathe, Marns,” he tells himself again, even if it did not helped much the first time. He inhales, then exhales, then inhales, then exhales. Things get progressively better, which is nice, because Mitch likes to be alive as much as the next guy, and the whole hyperventilating thing wasn't fun at all. The flies have disappeared too, though the gazelles are still around.

 

A glance at his phone tells him there’s about one hour left till curfew, which means that, if he wants to do anything about what just happened, Mitch has to do it now. The problem is, he doesn't really know where to go from here, since this is totally new to him.

 

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate: Mitch has walked in on teammates having sex at least three other times; they’re all seared in his brain, and he’s never going to un-see them. It’s like people don't understand the basic laws of decency and have to have sex whenever they can. Mitch supposes that’s what people do.

 

And, honest, he doesn’t exactly have a problem with it. It’s more the fact that he really doesn't want to see his friends in certain compromising situations if he can avoid it.

 

There is being bros and there is _being bros_ and while Mitch has no problems with either—and he really doesn't have one whit of a problem—he is more into the first kind of bros-relationship than the second. At least, that’s as far as his experience in the matter goes. Or went, he supposes.

 

It’s the whole, “Why don't you join the party?” thing that he’s having some problems wrapping his head around. He thinks. Maybe. It’s all so fucking confusing, and for all of his bluster and spunk, Mitch is really a simple guy. The bottom line is, _that_ never happened before. Though, Mitch has gathered tonight, that’s something people do. Clearly.

 

When it comes to dealing with things he has no experience with, Mitch has a list of contacts. He wrote it out first when he arrived at the London Knights, sixteen and clueless, because he really didn't want to get kicked out of the team, he really didn't want to fail any of his classes and he really, really, really didn't want to get anyone pregnant—his agent had put the fear of god into him about all that, like he thought his parents hadn’t done the same. The list expanded over the years, and nowadays it only exists in Mitch’s brain, but it goes something like this:

 

For idiotic-related problems, i.e. ‘you’ve been an idiot, now fix it,’ call your brother, who’s older and knows better. Do not call anyone else, even if Chris cannot help you immediately. It’s not worth the headache. (There is a mental footnote here, which reads ‘Remember the combine’, and, seriously, Mitch would rather forget that, but he supposes he shouldn't, hence the note).

 

For idiotic-related problems, i.e. ‘something idiotic happened and you don't understand it’, call Stromer, who’s, like, the Idiot-in-Chief, and will help with the lingo. If Stromer is unavailable, call Crouser, who’s vice-Idiot-in-Chief, a title he earned when he succumbed to peer-pressure and ate a fucking worm. Hymie and Kappy can also be consulted on occasion, but Mitch tries not to abuse of the privilege—he had to play with them, after all.

 

For girls-related problems, think carefully about the issue and then call:

  1. Mom, if you can manage to keep it PG—she’s a woman, and no matter what Stromer says about his ample experience with the fairer sex, he doesn't really _get_ it as much as he thinks he does;
  2. Chris, if the rating is higher than PG—he’s older and knows better;
  3. Marty, if you need to make important decisions—he’s older and knows about this and his is the best relationship ever;
  4. Stromer, if you need to be talked out of making important decisions—Stromer is the king of ‘Commitment? Hell, no!’;
  5. Matts, if it’s about hook-ups. Matts is the walking Wikipedia of hook-ups.



 

For team-related problems in which the problem is _not_ one of your teammates, call:

  1. Matts, because it’s Matts, and you two are codependent assholes;
  2. Marty, if Matts isn’t around, because he knows how to take care of your freak-outs;
  3. Mo, if Matts and Marty aren’t around, because he’s going to be the team’s captain at some point in the next decade. He needs the practice;
  4. Anyone else on the team _but_ Bozie, who’ll make fun of you until the end of eternity, the fucker.



 

For team-related problems in which the problem is one of your teammates, call:

  1. Stromer, if you want to bitch about it;
  2. Crouser or Dvo, if you want to make fun of it;
  3. Davo, if you want a solution to the fucking problem.



 

Admittedly, Mitch never had a problem with any of his teammates, so this is a section of the list he’s never used, which is good.

 

For hockey-related problems, i.e. problems related with your game, call Davo. That’s it, call Hockey Jesus, because there is no other option and you don't have Crosby’s number. Yet. (If you ever get around becoming Crosby’s friend, then ditch Davo, but that’s not happening anytime soon, so call Davo). If Davo is otherwise engaged, call Matts, who will do in a pinch, but bear in mind the possibility of long-term chirping. The dude is ruthless. It’s like they feed blood to the first overall picks in the week before and after the draft.

 

The list goes on, but Mitch is 100% sure that nowhere in it there is a subsection that can help him dealing with what just happened. He doesn't even know how to categorize what just happened so that he can figure out whom to call, to be honest.

 

There is a girl involved, but it’s not Mitch’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend now, but that’s not important at the moment. So he doesn't think he should call his mom, his brother, Marty or Stromer. Actually, Mitch is, like, absolutely positive he shouldn't talk to his mom about this. His brother is not going to know what to do about this, Marty is going to make fun of Mitch and Dylan is going to pretend to know what he’s doing, which isn’t gonna help Mitch any.

 

It’s not hockey, really, so Mitch doesn't think he should call Davo about it. At the same time, however, it has to do with a teammate. Mitch doesn't want to bitch about it, and he doesn't want to make fun of it. Which must mean he wants a solution to the problem. Which means he is going to have to call Davo.

 

The idea of calling Davo about something like this makes Mitch’s stomach gazelles resume their full-speed run. Mitch and Davo aren’t like that, that’s what Stromer is for. But Stromer’s reaction to Mitch’s nighttime adventures is not going to be helpful—Mitch loves Stromer like a brother, but the guy is absolutely useless when it comes to this kind of stuff. He would laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and then he’d want the most excruciating details.

 

At the same time, Mitch doesn't really want to talk about sex with Connor McDavid. Like, never. Sure, he assumes Davo has had his share of hook-ups and girlfriends and whatever, what with the whole Canadian hockey prodigy from age five onwards—Stromer used to have the best stories, and Mitch believed, like, a fifth of them, mostly the ones where girls flustered Davo to the point where he had to leave the room.

 

Still, in Mitch’s mind, Davo and sex don't compute—it’s like asking Mitch to put the Canucks and the Cup in the same sentence. They don't really go together, at least in this universe. Davo has always struck Mitch as someone for whom intimacy comes with plenty of difficulty—and there is ample evidence of that out there for people to see. It doesn't help that Davo is an extremely private person, who doesn't share personal details unless he trusts you completely. Davo trusts Mitch completely, and Mitch still knows next to nothing about his personal like unless it involves Stromer.

 

So, Mitch doesn't really want to talk about something so private, so delicate, so mind-blowing and so sex-related with Connor McDavid. But there is really no other option. Mitch goes through the list again, just to make sure he’s not missing something obvious—like, call dad, which is relegated in the ‘Armageddon-Type-of-Emergency’ section of the list. He dismisses that option, and any other, very quickly.

 

Davo it is, then.

 

In order to avoid having this conversation in front of Brownie—and therefore making Brownie _and_ Davo as uncomfortable as he is right now—Mitch locks himself in the bathroom and sits on the toilet—it’s a commentary on his life, that’s for sure.

 

Davo is playing tonight, Mitch discovers from a quick check of the schedule, which is really not ideal. Still, he must be done by now, since his game started before Mitch’s. So Mitch hits his contact and waits for him to pick up.

 

“Marns.” Davo’s soft voice calms Mitch immediately. If the whole hockey gig doesn't work out, Connor McDavid should become a horse whisperer.

 

“Davo,” he croaks out.

 

“Are you okay?” Davo asks worriedly. There is no background noise, so Davo must be home already.

 

“I am not sure,” Mitch admits.

 

“What happened?” Davo prods, his voice soft and measured—captain voice, Stromer calls it. It’s very effective.

 

“I …” Mitch begins, but apparently he doesn't know how to go on, because he stops right there.

 

“Marns, buddy,” Davo says, voice still soft—really, the horse-whisperer thing? Davo’s totally gonna nail it.

 

“I …” Mitch begins again.

 

“Are you hurt?” Davo asks. “I didn't see the game, but I saw the highlights.”

 

“No, no,” Mitch hastens to reassure him. “I’m just a bit bruised, nothing bad.”

 

“Okay,” Davo exhales, clearly relieved.

 

“It’s Matty,” Mitch blurts out.

 

“Is _he_ hurt?” Davo asks, worried again.

 

“No, he’s fine too,” Mitch says. “More than,” he adds, because he can’t help it.

 

“That’s good,” Davo comments. “So, what happened?”

 

“I…” Mitch begins again, and third time is the charm, or maybe it's the fact that he went as far as to admit this is about Matty, because the rest of it comes out pretty quickly.

 

“I think I’ve just been invited to a threesome, but I’m not sure, because I assume the invitation should come from both people involved, right? Not from only one of them. And I don't even know the girl, like, I’ve never seen her before, and I’m not really interested in her, so that didn't seem like a good idea, you know? And Matty didn't say anything anyway, so I thought that he wasn't into that at all, and since it was his girl, or whatever passes for Matty’s girl these days, I figured I’d better make myself scarce, which I did. And I think I apologized and thanked her, but I’m not sure?”

 

He runs out of breath for what feels like the tenth time this evening and when Davo tells him, “Breathe, Marns,”—like Mitch hasn't been repeating that to himself for the past thirty minutes, and god, has it been only thirty minutes?—he follows his order.

 

“Again,” Davo tells him, and Mitch continues to breath.

 

“Okay?” Davo asks him when Mitch has done some breathing exercises and he can tell oxygen is getting to his brain again.

 

“I mean, not really?” Mitch answers honestly.

 

“Mitchy,” Davo says softly.

 

“Davo,” Mitch kind of whines.

 

“It’s going to be fine, Mitchy,” Davo reassures him.

 

Mitch hates it when Davo or Stromer calls him Mitchy—lie, he loves it, but they don't need to know—because he feels like they’re treating him with kid’s gloves. Granted, the current situation might warrant it, but still.

 

“Mitchy,” Davo continues. “You’re gonna have to run that by me again, because I caught only half of what you said. But it’s going to be fine.”

 

“How can you say that if you only heard half of it?” Mitch asks pointedly.

 

“I got the gist,” Davo says drily.

 

“Well,” Mitch says, sulking. “That makes one of us.”

 

Davo laughs, but it’s a gentle laugh, not a mocking one. That’s why, in these cases, Davo is better than Stromer.

 

“Davo,” Mitch whines.

 

“Okay, let me see if I got this right,” Davo must have decided to cut Mitch some slack. “Some girl Matty picked up and asked you if you wanted to join them in a threesome, and you said no, thanked her, and left.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch mumbles.

 

“That’s not too bad, Marns,” Davo has the gall to tell Mitch. “I mean, it’s a bit embarrassing, but it’s not uncommon.”

 

“Does it happen often to you?” Mitch asks snappily. “Because this was a first for me.”

 

Davo sputters, and Mitch thinks, _Sex and Davo_ and rolls his eyes.

 

“Of course not,” Davo says all prim and proper. “But trust me, I have heard plenty of stories since I’ve come to Edmonton.”

 

“To be fair, it’s not like there are better things to do in your lovely wasteland of a town than to have adventurous sex,” Mitch comments.

 

He does like to remind Davo and Stromer that he’s the one who won the draft lottery in 2015. First and third overall picks my ass, stuck as they are in Alberta and Arizona. It’s Mitch who’s playing for their childhood team. And when Davo says he doesn't care about how the Leafs are doing, he is a lying liar who lies.

 

“Point,” Davo concedes. “Still, I really don't see the problem. So you got propositioned in a bar…”

 

“Oh,” Mitch realizes he hasn't been as exhaustive as he should have. “We weren’t in a bar.”

 

“You weren’t?” Davo asks perplexed.

 

“No,” Mitch says.

 

“Then where were you?” Davo inquires.

 

“In Matty’s room?” Mitch says. It does come out more like a question, and Davo picks up on that.

 

“You aren’t sure?”

 

“No, it was definitely Matty’s room,” Mitch says.

 

“You’ve lost me, Marns,” Davo says.

 

“Welcome to my evening,” Mitch snorts.

 

“What were you doing in Matts’ room, Mitch?”

 

“He’d said we could hang tonight, if I was going to head back early and didn't want to be by myself. Like, Connor might be around, but it’s fine.”

 

“I thought you were rooming with Brownie, this season?” Davo says, because he fucking remembers who’s rooming with whom.

 

“I am, more often than not. I was talking about Carrick. And room assignments are a bit more relaxed this year. It’s part of this ‘building-team-cohesion” thing Babs has going on.”

 

“It doesn't give you guys structure, though,” Davo comments. Once a captain, always a captain, Mitch figures.

 

“You wanna bring it up with Babs? ‘Cause I’m not going to,” Mitch asks nonchalantly.

 

Davo might be the second coming of Gretzky or whatever nickname the media has come up with of late, but Babs is Babs and he’s done it all. He’s gonna know more about what works and what doesn't than Connor McDavid ever will.

 

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Davo says sheepishly.

 

“I thought so,” Mitch says. Fucking first overall picks. They think they know it all.

 

“So you were in Matty’s room when you got propositioned?” Davo goes back to the issue at hand, and Mitch doesn't know whether he should feel grateful or not.

 

“I mean, I left the bar and came back. And I got an extra key from Carrick.”

 

“Mitch,” Davo says with the tone perfected by all mothers in the known universe.

 

“I knocked!” Mitch protests.

 

“Mitch,” Davo repeats, the tone even more reproachful.

 

“And he didn't text me to say I shouldn't come anymore,” Mitch defends himself.

 

“Jesus, Mitch. Tell me you didn't walk in on them,” Davo is almost begging him by now.

 

“Okay,” Mitch agrees easily. “I won’t.”

 

“Thank fuck,” Davo exhales sounding relieved.

 

Mitch says nothing.

 

“Mitch?” Davo says.

 

“Yes?” Mitch says like he doesn't have a care in the world. Davo is not stupid. He’s going to catch on.

 

“You walked in on them, didn't you?” he says resigned.

 

“I walked in on them,” Mitch admits, blushing furiously even if he’s alone in the bathroom of a fucking hotel in Dallas.

 

“She asked you to join them while they were …”

 

Mitch would feel bad about Davo’s obvious discomfort at what he’s trying to say, but he’s freaked out enough that having someone else feeling out of sorts makes him better.

 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “It was the weirdest thing. Like, she was on top of Matts …”

 

“I don't need a play-by-play, Marns,” Davo hastens to stop him.

 

“They weren’t naked, if that helps?” Mitch says.

 

“Did it help you?” Davo asks shrewdly.

 

“I mean, not really?” Mitch admits, because it hadn't.

 

The girl had been lying on top of Matts, both of them still fully clothed by completely disheveled. Her hands had been in Matts’ hair, and Matts’ hands had been under her dress. The whole scene had been a bit too much for Mitch.

 

“Okay,” Davo says. “Let’s stick to the simpler version. You walk on them … making out,” _Connor McDavid, king of understatements_ , Mitch thinks. “And the girl sees you and asks if you want to join them?”

 

“Pretty much,” Mitch says, since that had really been it. Mitch doesn't remember the exact wording since he’s been so thrown off by the whole plateau he hadn’t had enough brain function to register the girl’s words. He had gotten the message perfectly well, however. The girl’s tone had been sufficiently suggestive.

 

“And you said no and left,” Davo continues.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch confirms.

 

“And in all of this, Matts was doing … what exactly?” Davo asks. He sounds genuinely curious.

 

And isn’t that the 64,000 dollars question?

 

“Nothing much,” he says. “He looked at her, and he seemed resigned more than surprised by her invite.”

 

“Is that what’s freaking you out?” Davo asks.

 

“The whole thing is freaking me out, Davo. That’s why I called you,” Mitch huffs.

 

“Marns,” Davo says in a conciliatory tone. “I don't mean to piss you off, but it’d help both me and you if I knew which part of the whole thing is freaking you out the most.”

 

“Okay,” Mitch says, albeit reluctantly.

 

He really doesn't want to parse the whole experience to get in touch with his feelings. It seems like Davo is going to treat this like a hockey-play, however, and parse it into its smallest components to figure out what’s wrong.

 

“Was it the girl thing?” Davo begins.

 

“I mean, I don't know her? I don't do hook-ups, you know that, Davo. But it doesn't freak me out.”

 

“Okay,” Davo accepts that. “What about the walking in on them?”

 

“That’s fine too. I’ll just add to the list of times it’s happened, you know?”

 

“Trust me, Marns. I lived with Hallsy for a year. I do know.”

 

“You’re also friends with Stromer,” Mitch smirks.

 

“There is that,” Davo admits. Mitch knows—from Stromer, who’s shameless, not from Davo, who’s a saint—that Connor has walked on Stromer with a girl more than once.

 

“Was it the threesome thing?” Davo continues.

 

Mitch thinks about it for more than a second. He never really contemplated threesomes before—not because of any inherent dislike of the idea. It’s just that he can get really jealous, so he doesn't think he’d be fine with sharing a partner.

 

“I guess?” he tells Davo after a long silence. “It’s not really my thing. But at the same time I’m not opposed to it for other people, you know.”

 

“Well, that’s good,” Davo says. “I mean, if it’s the threesome thing, then you chalk it up to experience and learning about yourself and move on.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says while chewing his lower lip. That must have been it.

 

Davo is silent for a long time, and Mitch continues to think about the threesome thing.

 

“Was it also the gay thing?” Davo asks out of the blue, because he knows how to go for the jugular.

 

“Jesus Christ, Connor,” Mitch says.

 

“Just trying to be thorough, here, Marns,” Davo says.

 

“We're not reviewing tape, Davo,” Mitch says, sulking.

 

“We kind of are,” Davo comments. “So,” he continues. “Was it also the idea of having sex with a guy?”

 

Mitch is silent for an even longer time, now. Davo is one of his best friends. They never played together and they’ve never had the codependent relationship Davo has with Stromer and Mitch has with Matty or Marty. Yet, over the course of the years Connor McDavid has become one of Mitch’s favorite people. A lot of it has to do with Stromer, that’s for sure. But it’s also about Davo himself. So Mitch is not going to lie to him, even if he might be tempted to lie to himself.

 

“I don't think so,” Mitch says.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Like, I haven’t really thought about that? Having sex with a guy, I mean. It never came up.”

 

“That’s fine, Marns,” Davo says reassuringly.

 

Mitch doesn't need to be reassured, however, not about this.

 

“I have a couple of gay friends. I mean, I think they’re gay. They’re together, so I assume they’re gay, but they might be something else. Anyway, I know gay people but it’s not like when I met them I thought about gay sex or gay relationships, you know?”

 

“Eloquent as always, Marns.”

 

“Fuck off, Davo,” Mitch says. “I save my eloquence for the media.”

 

“That’s probably smart,” Davo comments.

 

Mitch feels kind of bad. He has to do _a lot_ of media—Toronto, Toronto boy, Original Six Franchise, Three-Headed Monster, etc. But he’s never going to be Connor McDavid, and with that comes a whole set of issues Mitch doesn't even want to begin thinking about.

 

“Anyways,” Mitch continues.

 

“So it’s not the gay thing?” Davo insists.

 

“I don't know,” Mitch admits.

 

“Is it the Matts thing?” Davo throws out it there, like Mitch hasn't been thinking about that since he walked out of that room.

 

Mitch doesn't say anything—saying things out loud is the fastest way to make them become a reality, and Mitch doesn't know if he’s ready to live in a reality where there is something like a ‘Matts thing’.

 

“Mitch,” Davo prods gently.

 

Mitch huffs, but continues to say nothing.

 

“You know it’s fine, right? If there is a Matts thing?”

 

Mitch laughs, because if Connor thinks it’s fine, then maybe he needs a reality check himself, not to mention a long and hard examination of the state of the league, the situation of the locker-rooms, and, since they’re at it, a re-evaluation of the past 5000 years of human history.

 

“Don't be an idiot, Davo,” Mitch says harshly. “It’s not fine.”

 

“It’s fine with me,” Davo says, equally harshly.

 

“I appreciate it, Davo. And I never had a doubt. But that’s not really the point, is it?”

 

“You’re right,” Davo says, exhaling heavily. “I just want you to be happy.”

 

“Davo,” Mitch says, because things are crazy, but not that crazy. “I’m fine. Like, maybe I could have done without the epiphany, you know. But, if it’s a Matts thing, I’ll deal. He didn't seem upset when the girl suggested I join in. So I don't think he’s going to go all homophobic or anything. Plus, like, I left. He might think _I_ am the homophobic one, you know?”

 

“You’re going to have to talk to him about this. Even if there is no Matts thing to discuss,” Davo says pointedly, the fucker.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch agrees. “I figured that the moment I stepped out of the room. Once I stopped hyperventilating.”

 

“Jesus, Marns,” Davo giggles. “Only you.”

 

“Not true!” Mitch says, truly offended. “Stromer is much worse. You just cut him more slack because he’s your favorite.”

 

“You’re all my favorites,” Davo says, with the magnanimity of a benevolent monarch who can say that, and still have only one fucking favorite and everyone knows who that is.

 

“Bullshit,” Mitch says. “That’s fine. I can be your second favorite. Or third. But not lower than that. I don't care what you’ve got going on in Edmonton. The draft is more important.”

 

Davo laughs good-naturedly. “Definitely no lower than second,” he promises. “Don't tell Leon, though.”

 

“Wow,” Mitch whispers in fake-awe. “I rank higher than Draisaitl. It is a glorious day, indeed.”

 

“From what you told me, it sounds like,” Davo mocks him.

 

“Fuck off, Davo,” Mitch says, which is really a big thank you.

 

Davo knows Mitch well enough to answer, “You’re welcome. And talk to Matts about this. Don't let it fester, or it’s going to get weird really fast.”

 

“I know,” Mitch grumbles.

 

They’re mid-season, so things are relatively quiet. The team is doing well enough that Babs is mad only half the time, they are far enough from the final playoff rush to be optimistic and far enough from the beginning of the season to be settled. Things are well. Or as well as they can be considering that NHL players are going to be watching the Olympics from home—and that’s something Mitch doesn't really want to think about. Him and Matts don't need something else this to fuck up their sophomore season.

 

“Do it soon, Marns,” Davo insists.

 

“I will, I will,” Mitch promises. “We have a few days off before our next game. I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Good,” Davo says approvingly. I’ll call you in a couple of day to check in.”

 

“Davo…” Mitch says, but Davo has already hung up, the dick.

 

_I h8 u_ , he texts him.

 

_No u dont,_ Davo replies quickly with a heart emoji and a rainbow one.

 

_I like Matts more than u_ , Mitch says, which is kind of true.

 

_Thats fine. I can be ur second favorite too_ , Davo responds.

 

_Thats Stromer_ , Mitch clarifies, though it’s probably a tie with those two.

 

_Im telling ur brother_.

 

_Family doesnt count, wtf._

_Go to sleep, Marns. Ill call soon._

Mitch exhales heavily and gets off the toilet—his ass is flat like a fucking plank right now.

 

Brownie is not back yet, Mitch notices when he returns to the room, but there is still some time before curfew. Mitch undresses and gets ready for bed quickly. Now that he’s talked with Davo, he’s crashing hard and he just wants to sleep.

 

There are no messages from Matts, but that’s not unusual, so Mitch doesn't worry any more than he’s already doing. He lies on his bed, turns off the light and he’s asleep in seconds.

 

***

 

The following morning things appear completely normal. The team meets for breakfast relatively early, and then they’re off to the airport to catch the plane back to Toronto. They have a few days off, another game, and then by-week.

 

Mitch feels much better after a solid night of sleep and a big meal. He’s still a bit spooked, but he makes an effort not to let it show by sitting with Matts and Freddie at breakfast. Not that it requires much effort of his part, as Matts is never fully functioning until he’s had, like, three cups of coffee, and Freddie doesn't talk if he can help it. Still, Matts smiles at him, and Freddie doesn't growl, so Mitch counts it as a win.

 

On the plane, Mitch usually sits with Marty, and he doesn't feel the need to change things up. Plus, he wants to nap, and he doesn't think his heart-to-heart with Matts about last night should happen where any of their teammates could overhear. So he takes his usual spot and is asleep before take off. He wakes when the captain announces their imminent descent into Pearson, even more rested than before.

 

Him and Matts drove together to the airport—they usually do, because Matts hasn't lost his rookie-year habit of expecting Mitch to chauffeur him everywhere—so Mitch knows that the time for their chat has come once they’ve dropped their stuff in the trunk of Mitch’s car and they’re making their way home.

 

Matts is fiddling with the radio, which is normal, and really, as far as Mitch can tell, he’s absolutely chill with what happened the night before. Still, it doesn't mean Mitch is going to keep quiet. Davo is right: if they don't address it now, it might come back and bite them in the ass later.

 

Once they hit the interstate, Matts relaxes in the passenger seat, and Mitch gets to business.

 

“We need to talk about last night, Matty,” he says, his tone even but firm.

 

Matts sighs. “I know,” he acknowledges. “I’m surprised it took you this long to bring it up.”

 

Mitch snorts. “Trust me, this is not a conversation I’m looking forward to having.”

 

“Me neither,” Matts admits, but Mitch can tell he’s actually fine.

 

Angry Matts and Grumpy Matts are easily recognizable after one and a half year of friendship, and Mitch can tell Matts is neither angry nor grumpy. But then, he got laid last night, which, as far as Mitch has been able to discern, always puts him in a good mood. He blushes again at the thought, and curses his pale skin as well as the whole situation for the fiftieth time.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mitch begins.

 

“No, Marns,” Matts says. “You’ve got nothing to apologize. I told you to come by.”

 

“You probably weren’t expecting me to have a key, though,” Mitch comments as he switches lanes to avoid sitting behind a truck for miles on end.

 

“I should have thought of that,” Matts says. “I just got side-tracked and forgot to text you about the change in plans.”

 

Mitch casts him a glance, and notices Matts is not embarrassed—at least not exactly. He’s a bit flushed under his semi-permanent tan, but that’s all.

 

“She must have been something else,” Mitch says to break the tension.

 

Matts laughs. “You saw her.”

 

“Not really,” Mitch says. “I was more shocked than anything else. No real time to take her in.”

 

“Yeah, I could tell,” Matts grins and Mitch wants to smack him but he can’t because he’s driving. “Anyway,” Matts continues, “it’s my fault and I’m sorry about that.”

 

“Right,” Mitch says. “I’m sorry, too. Maybe we need to start using the sock thing, like Hymie was telling us about? It seems like it worked for him when he was in college.”

 

“I mean, we can,” Matts says, “but I’m not going to forget to text you ever again, so I wouldn't worry about it.”

 

Mitch hums his assent.

 

“As for the rest,” Matts adds, “Sorry I didn't say anything to her right there.”

 

Mitch tries to swallow at that, but it seems like his throat has turned into the Sahara all of a sudden. He coughs to clear it before speaking again.

 

“It’s fine, dude,” he says, attempting a ‘I’m-totally-chill-bro’ tone and failing miserably. “I mean,” he adds, because he’s not in the habit of lying to Matty, so he’s not going to start now. “It threw me off, but it’s no big deal.”

 

“Yeah,” Matts concurs. “It’s really weird sometimes.”

 

Mitch turns towards him, his mouth hanging open.

 

“Does it happen to you often?” he asks incredulous, and this time Matts turns a lovely shade of red.

 

“What does?” he tries to deflect, but Mitch has his number. Matts and Willy are the ones who pick up the most on the team and Mitch has seen too much to buy the innocent act.

 

“Don't even try it, Matthews,” Mitch says.

 

“I mean, nobody has walked in on me recently, besides you,” Matts explains. “The last time I was …”

 

“I don't wanna know, buddy,” Mitch hastens to stop him. “Sorry, but I’ve had my share of accidents, and I really need my mental energies intact to deal with those without having to think about your own mishaps.”

 

“But you asked,” Matts faux-whines.

 

“Not about that, you dick,” Mitch grumbles, switching lanes again as he comes up the exit that’ll take them to Matts’ condo.

 

“You wanna know about the threesomes instead?” Matts waggles his eyebrows and it’s really not attractive like it is when Willy does it. Willy tried to teach Matts, Mitch, Kappy and Brownie one night. Apparently Mitch looks like a moron, Brownie like a madman, Matts can _kind of_ pull it off and Kappy is adorable—Willy’s verdict.

 

“Jesus, Matts,” Mitch groans, rolling his eyes.

 

Matts laughs softly. “Anyway, no, it doesn't happen often,” Matts clarifies. “But it does happen.”

 

“You get invited into threesomes?” Mitch can’t resist asking.

 

“Girls ask about getting you into a threesome. With me,” Matts says.

 

Mitch doesn't crash the car—which is probably good for the Leafs, considering how well him and Matts have been playing this season. However, it’s really a miracle he can keep it in its lane, given the impact Matts’ words have on him. It’s the flies, the gazelles and the lions all over again, and Mitch is a bit tired of feeling like he’s living in the fucking savannah.

 

Because they’re exiting the highway, Mitch doesn't say anything. He just drives on the ramp, takes a right, then a left and pulls into the first space he finds—a gas station. It will do. After he parks, he turns towards Matts, who still has a smirk on his face.

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Mitch grumbles.

 

“You asked,” Matts says.

 

“It was a rhetorical question, Matts,” Mitch protests.

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Matts says.

 

“I can’t believe you just told me that,” Mitch huffs, scrubbing his face with his hand.

 

“I can’t believe it either,” Matts admits with a small smile.

 

They look at each other for a second before bursting out laughing.

 

“Do they really?” Mitch asks, because it’s embarrassing, but also kind of flattering.

 

“It has happened more than once,” Matts admits. “It stopped being weird at the end of last season.”

 

“Dude,” Mitch says.

 

“I know,” Matts shrugs. “If it’s not you, it’s Willy.”

 

Mitch thinks about that for a second before nodding.

 

“I can see that,” he says.

 

“Willy can, too,” Matts smirks. “I told him a while ago. He found it delightful. That’s the term he used,” Matts rolls his eyes. “Delightful. Sometimes his command of the English language surprises me.”

 

“It’s the whole being bilingual thing,” Mitch explains sagely. “They know English better than the native speakers.”

 

“Willy grew up in the US,” Matts observes.

 

“True,” Mitch admits. “Anyway, why have you never told _me_?”

 

“It never came up,” Matts says looking away from Mitch.

 

“And it came up with Willy?” Mitch asks incredulous.

 

“Sex is Willy’s second favorite convo topic, Marns. Of course it came up.”

 

Which, point. As a matter of fact, sex is among the top three favorite topics of conversation of most guys under 30 on the team, so, really, no surprise there.

 

“The things one learns,” Mitch sighs, because this is really more than he needs to know about his teammates’ lives, but there you have it.

 

“No shit,” Matts concurs.

 

“That’s why you didn't look particularly frazzled by her suggestion?” Mitch observes. Not that it had bothered him, but it had surprised him quite a bit.

 

“Yeah,” Matts acknowledges. “By now, I’ve heard so many variations of it, it doesn't register. Though, your expression was priceless.”

 

“Fuck off, Matts,” Mitch says, blushing _again_. “I’ve never been asked before.”

 

Matts laughs openly, now. “Really? I thought you were friends with Stromer.”

 

“Stromer never had a threesome,” Mitch says firmly, because he knows that. Stromer might wish he’d had a threesome, but he doesn't even know how to spell threesome. (Seriously: once he asked Mitch what up with trees and sex).

 

“Eichs seems to think that’s all you, Davo and Stromer were doing at the draft. Having threesomes,” Matts comments.

 

“Eichs is jealous Davo didn't give him the time of day at the draft,” Mitch says haughty.

 

Eichs’ crush on Davo had been hard to miss, two and a half years ago. Luckily for everyone involved, Eichs had moved on to greener pasture, with Davo none the wiser. Mitch doesn't think Davo could handle that type of knowledge.

 

“It just surprises me, the things you know about the draft, considering you weren’t there,” Mitch says, because it’s not the first time Matts made it sound like he’s heard about all that happened in Sunshine, Florida.

 

“Inside knowledge, buddy,” Matts winks.

 

Mitch thinks about that for a second, before it finally hits him. “Fucking Werenski. He wasn't even there for half of it.”

 

“Team America forever, dude,” Matts smirks. “What he didn't see, Hanny and Eichs told him.”

 

“Well, nobody saw me in a threesome with anyone, that much I can tell you. _I,_ ” Mitch adds primly, “don't have sex where people can see me.”

 

“Sometimes I really wish I’d been there,” Matts admits ruefully. “It sounds so much more fun than my draft.”

 

“Trust me, Matts,” Mitch says leaning against his seat, “it’s better you weren’t. It was fun and all that, but it was intense like shit. You don't go through the combine and the draft with McDavid and Eichel without getting a few psychological scars. And no threesome anywhere, so you would have been SOL.”

 

“Oh,” Matts says. “That’s not really my thing, you know.”

 

Mitch looks at him. “You just told me you get propositioned like every other day.”

 

“Not quite, but it’s not like you or Willy are there. Plus, I can only deal with one person at the time. I wouldn't know what to do with two.”

 

Mitch opens his mouth for the inevitable chirp, but Matts stops him. “Don't even think about it. I’ll tell Marty about it, and then your life will be hell.”

 

“Marty loves me,” Mitch says.

 

“Marty does love you. He also loves making fun of you. And if I hear a whisper of a chirp, I’m also going to tell Stromer.”

 

“Oh, he probably already knows,” Mitch waves his hand dismissively before starting up the car again. Things are settled down enough that he’s ready to drive again.

 

“You told him?” Matts shrieks, which is a weird sound to come out of a 6.4 feet human being.

 

“I told Davo,” Mitch admits.

 

“You told McJesus about what happened?” Now Matts is clearly horrified. He knows Davo better than people think—they’ve got some weird first overall pick thing going on, plus they really bonded on Team North America. This doesn't mean that they’re best buddies.

 

“Don't worry,” Mitch hastens to reassure him. “He was surprisingly blasé about the whole thing. And he talked me down from a panic attack.”

 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Matts moans, hiding his face in his hands.

 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Mitch says while making his way to Matts’ condo. “It’s super-private, so Davo is going to tell Stromer and then he’s going to threaten him with the pain of death if he ever brings it up.”

 

“I’m really sorry, though, Marns,” Matts adds, probably referring to Mitch’s mention of the panic attack.

 

Mitch hides a smile, because Matts is cute when he worries, but now is not the time to point that out. “Thanks, dude, but it’s all good.”

 

“You sure?” Matts asks.

 

Mitch nods. Him and Matts get each other, and it’s taken them less than half an hour to clear up the air. It hasn't even been as embarrassing as Mitch thought it could be. They’re going to be fine.

 

“Cool,” Matts says. “CoD tomorrow? My place.”

 

Mitch huffs, because Matts’ game has improved under Mitch’s careful tutoring, but Mitch’s not a miracle worker.

 

“Come on. I need my training session.”

 

“Fine,” Mitch relents. “But I’m bringing some decent beer. I don't trust you with that American shit you insist on drinking.”

 

They bicker until they get to Matts’, and Mitch promises to be back the next morning. Then he drives home, parks his car and gets to his apartment, dragging his luggage and gear behind him.

 

Once he’s in his bedroom, Mitch undresses, takes a shower, dresses in a pair of sweats and a long-sleeves shirt and then grabs his phone.

 

“What’s up, Marns?” Davo says, answering after only two rings. “Did you talk to Matts?”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Mitch confirms, chewing nervously on his lower lip.

 

“And?” Davo prods.

 

“And: there might be a Matts thing after all.”

 

***

 

Mitch drives over Matts’ place the following afternoon with a case of beer, an assortment of nutritionist-approved snacks and the beginning of a headache. He was on the phone with Davo for two hours the previous night, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with him, since, seemingly out of nowhere, he wants to jump Matts.

Davo had been his usual unflappable self, which Mitch is still totally shocked about, because, like, _sex_. He’d listened to Mitch without offering trite advice, but simply giving him some space to let him vent.

 

When Mitch had started waxing poetics about Matts’ eyes, however, Davo had drawn a line.

 

“Don't even think about it,” Davo had said. “I have to play against the guy. The last thing I need is to lose it during face-offs because I hear you in my head talking about brown-colored orbs or some crap like that.”

 

“Davo,” Mitch had complained.

 

“Absolutely not, Mitch,” Davo had been adamant, as if hearing about Matts’ eyes was going to give him the plague or something,

 

Mitch figures if he really wants to discuss this further, he might need to draw up another section in the list—though it’s probably going to be Stromer. He doesn't think he can talk about this with his brother, but Stromer has always been a dick anyway, so it’s not like his approach to Mitch’s love life is going to change just because it’s a guy and not a girl.

 

Still, after he had hung up with Davo, Mitch couldn't stop thinking about Matts, and because he’s a little shit at heart, he’d started sending Davo messages, just to bother him.

 

_He has really nice eyes. Like, they’re warm and kind and they look like melted chocolate._

_Still dont wanna kno, marns._

_And his nose is cute too, dont u think_ , he had added for good measure.

 

_He has a pig nose,_ Davo had replied.

 

_Not tru_ , Mitch had replied, adding fifteen devil emojis.

 

_Im gonna turn off the phone_ , Davo had threatened.

 

_I dont believe that for a second, Davo,_ Mitch had commented, because Davo is inherently incapable of making himself unavailable to his friends and family.

 

_Hes also built like a truck, which is nice_ , Mitch had sent soon after.

 

_Im screenshoting this convo for posterity_ , Davo had finally pulled out the big guns, and Mitch had stopped, because Davo is a bastard when he wants.

_Fine_ , Mitch had relented, _but when Stromer knos evertng and you now nuttin your gonna be jealous._

Davo had sent a poop emoji, which, like the freak-out in the bathroom, is a perfect commentary about Mitch’s life.

 

The night had brought confusing dreams—not sex-crazed or anything like that, just weird. So Mitch had woken up less rested than he’d liked and he is now not exactly ready to spend a day with Matts, trying to make sense of his newly discovered interests while upholding his outstanding record at CoD. Mitch’s life sucks.

 

Once at Matts’, Mitch drops his goodies in the kitchen and sprawls on Matts’ sectional. He needs to get something like this for his condo, because it’s the comfiest piece of furniture he’s ever seen.

 

Matts joins him on the couch with an amused light in his brown eyes—Mitch really needs to stop obsessing about Matts’ eyes ASAP. He kind of gets Davo’s point about wanting to be able to concentrate.

 

“What?” Mitch asks.

 

“Every time you come over, you look like you want to hump my couch.”

 

“It’s an awesome couch,” Mitch grumbles, blushing slightly, because the irony of the humping comment is not lost on him.

 

“We need to get you one for your place,” Matts says, passing Mitch a beer.

 

“Why? Yours is perfectly fine,” Mitch says accepting the beer with a smile and relaxing further in the couch. They are sitting sufficiently apart that they can have a face-to-face conversation without crowding each other.

 

Matts rolls his eyes good-naturedly and hits Mitch’s hip with his socked foot.

 

“And you’re welcome to it whenever you want. But there is no comfy couch at your place for when we are there, so you really need to get your act together.”

 

“I would like to remind you that your dad furnished this place. Last year,” Mitch points out snottily. “I just got mine.”

 

“Right,” Matts says, “because you were too lazy to do anything about getting your own place, last year. You’re such a momma boy”

 

“Fuck off, Matts,” Mitch grins taking a sip of his beer. “You took your mom to the awards.”

 

Mitch is honestly happy that his newly discovered interest for Matts’ physical attributes doesn't prevent him to give him shit, because that’d be a real shame.

 

“Who else was I going to take?” Matts asks, arching his eyebrows.

 

“Well,” Mitch says pensively, “I guess the flavor of the month wouldn't have fit the bill.”

 

Matts snorts. “More like flavor of the week.”

 

“Truer words and all that,” Mitch says.

 

Matts is like Stromer, a commitment-phobe. To be fair, they are young—although Mitch and Davo have managed long-term relationships just fine and they are the same age.

 

“Still, you could have asked me,” Mitch adds. Not that he would have attended, considering that he was away with his family and ex.

 

“Right,” Matts snorts. “That would have gone completely unnoticed.”

 

“It probably would have offered Davo some respite about the stupid questions they keep asking him,” Mitch observes tersely.

 

Matts hums. “Luckily for him, he is very good at saying nothing while speaking a lot.”

 

“I know, right?” Mitch says excitedly, because it is really quite impressive, how Davo can run circles around the media.

 

“Do you think we’ll ever get to be as good as he is?” Matts asks, a frown on his forehead. It sounds like a serious question, not a follow-up of the light chirping they’ve just been doing, so Mitch focuses his attention fully on Matts.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” Matts says, weaving his hand in the air. “He’s just so good.”

 

Mitch grins delighted. “You have a Davo-crush,” he says. He’s not even jealous, because everyone goes through that phase. Mitch is, like, 79 percent sure Stromer never got over it, to tell the truth.

 

“No, I don't,” Matts huffs.

 

“It’s okay, Matts,” Mitch says, faux-understanding. He even pats his hand on Matts’ knees for good measure. “It happens to all of us,” he continues. “Like, it’s a rite of passage.”

 

“It absolutely isn’t,” Matts says blushing charmingly.

 

“Eichs had a Davo-crush, Auston,” Mitch remarks with a smirk. “Trust me, it does happen to the best of us.”

 

“That only tells you something about Eichs’ appalling taste, Marns,” Matts points out, which is actually a valid point.

 

“Come on,” Mitch says. “Even Burky and Brownie had one.”

 

“Whatever,” Matts grumbles. “I don't have a crush on Davo.”

 

“No,” Mitch agrees. “You have a Davo-crush. It’s different.”

 

Matts looks at him perplexed. “How?”

 

“A Davo-crush is, like, a moment of growth for our generation. Kind of like the Crosby-crush ten years ago.”

 

“You are making this shit up,” Matts says laying more comfortably on the couch and giving Mitch a ‘I’m-not-impressed-with-your-shit’ stare.

 

“I am not,” Mitch defends himself. “Ask Stromer. And his brother. He and Tavares suffered from the Crosby-crush. It’s a thing about generational talents.”

 

“That’s a load of bullshit, Marns,” Matts insists.

 

“You don't know because you are the first American generational talent in forever, so you guys are not used to it. Us Canadians? We are pros at this,” Mitch explains primly, because it’s totally a thing, what the hell. They teach these things in junior.

 

Matts bursts out laughing. “Sure, because now the Canadians are more in touch with their feelings than the Americans.”

 

Mitch flips him off before dropping his now empty bottle of beer on the side table. He’s not buzzed—not after one beer—but he’s relaxed.

 

“You’ll see when people start having Matts-crushes. Then you’re going to believe me.”

 

“That’s already happening, Marns,” Matts is confident enough about his charms to actually come out and say it, the fucker.

 

“I’m not talking about girls, Matts, Jesus. Everyone can pick up like you do, don't think you’re so special.”

 

“Fuck off, I’m winning the arms race with Willy,” Matts comments off-handedly.

 

Mitch looks at him mildly horrified at the implication. He’s pretty sure his mom would slap him if he ever said anything like this. He’s pretty sure Matts’ mom would slap _Matts_ if she heard him say something like this.

 

“Tell me you’re joking,” he says appalled.

 

“I’m joking, Marns,” Matts says sheepishly. “I’ve two sisters, and so does Willy. We’re not that callous.”

 

“You just need to have basic human decency, but sisters will work too,” Mitch comments. “Anyway, you need to make a distinction between a crush on Davo and a Davo-crush. Or a crush on Matts and a Matts-crush.”

 

Matts looks at Mitch like he’s talking in Chinese, so Mitch spends the next five minutes elucidating the differences between having a crush on a dude because the dude is hot or whatever—admittedly something Mitch knew nothing about until, like, one day ago—and having a crush on a dude’s hockey.

 

“Is this what you guys spent the winter doing, in the O?” Matts asks. “Crushing on each other or each other’s hockey?”

 

“Don't dismiss it till you’ve tried it, Matts,” Mitch says, because he doesn't have dude-on-dude experience, but he has friends.

 

Matts looks at him somewhat surprised, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

 

“Nope,” Mitch says. “I’m not talking about that.”

 

“Mitchy,” Matts says, suddenly gentle, and Mitch thinks he might have lost the plot somewhere. “You know you can tell me anything right?”

 

“What?” Mitch says, and then the light bulb goes off. “Oh, I didn't mean me. The only dick I know my way around is mine.”

 

In thinking over, Mitch blushes again, because his statement came out more crassly and less charming than it sounded in his mind. Brain-to-mouth filter not engaged, clearly.

 

“I cannot believe I just said that,” he mutters, while Matts is belly laughing, halfway on the floor of the living room.

 

“That’s gonna go on the team chat,” Matts promises him.

 

“Don't even try it,” Mitch says. “Anyway, I’ve friends who are not straight and who will go unnamed. They were the ones who were very good a make the distinction between the two.”

 

Matts hums softly. “I guess they’d know.”

 

“And to answer your original question,” Mitch continues, “I do think you will get as good as Davo, because you are a competitive bastard who cannot let it go. As for myself, I’m perfectly happy with being a good player. It means less press time, which I count as a win.”

 

“You are Toronto boy playing for the Leafs,” Matts reminds Mitch, like Mitch doesn't know that. “They’re never going to let you out of their clutches. Plus, there is the whole three-headed monster thing,” Matts adds, referring to the nickname with which the media have labeled him, Mitch and Willy.

 

Mitch shrugs. “Still, better you than me. And this way, you can be the recipient of both Matts-crushes and crushes on Matts.”

 

Matts shakes his head like Mitch is a five-year old with a stupid idea in his head.

 

“So which one is yours?” Matts asks with a smirk

 

“Which one is mine what?” Mitch replies. He gets that a chirp is coming, but he doesn't understand the question.

 

“Is it a Davo-crush or a crush on Davo?”

 

Mitch smiles. “As I said, the former. His hockey is pretty damn hot. And I’m not used to think about guys that way, you know?”

 

Matts hums pensively. “Yeah, I get it. It’s kind of different, isn’t it?”

 

Mitch nods before realizing two things:

 

Thing The One: that he’s agreeing with Matts about the fact that thinking about guys that way is different.

 

Thing The Two: that what Matts just said implies Matts too _thinks about guys that way._

 

Matts must be thinking the same thing, because when they look at each other Mitch can see the ‘Oh shit!’ moment in Matts’ eyes.

 

“You’ve been thinking about it,” Mitch comments, because he doesn't know when to shut up.

 

“So have you,” Matts says almost accusingly, like it’s Mitch’s fault.

 

“You didn't say anything about it yesterday,” Mitch grumbles.

 

“Neither did you,” Matts defends himself.

 

“Because there wasn't much to say until yesterday,” Mitch hastens to explain, which, again, the brain-to-mouth filter needs to be in function more often than it actually is, if Mitch wants to survive adulthood _and_ his hockey career.

 

Matts’ eyes go as wide as saucer, which is saying something, since they’re already so big. “Oh,” he says.

 

“Eloquent,” Mitch mocks him. After all, unfiltered confessions shouldn't stop him from chirping the hell out of Matts.

 

“Is it the whole threesome thing?” Matts asks curious.

 

Mitch blushes, exactly like he had when he’d discussed this with Davo.

 

“Not really,” Mitch admits, because, again, he’s not going to lie to Matts. “It’s really not my thing, you know,” he adds, “’cause I can get kind of possessive.”

 

“Yeah, I get it,” Matts says hesitantly, “I mean, I’m not jealous by nature, it’s kind of hard with two siblings and a huge extended family, but that’s why I never even entertained the idea. As I said yesterday, one person is more than enough.”

 

“So if it isn’t the threesome thing for you either, what is?” Mitch inquires, because his cards are on the table, and he wants to see Matts’ before this goes any further.

 

“What do you think?” Matts asks.

 

“Willy?” Mitch hazards a guess. That seems more plausible than acknowledging Matts’ newly-found interest in guys might have something to do with Mitch himself. “I mean,” he continues hurriedly, “He’s objectively pretty hot, what with the hair and the blue eyes and the smile.”

 

“You also have hair and blue eyes and a smile, but it doesn't seem to help you,” Matts comments sarcastically.

 

“Not cool!” Mitch exclaims.

 

“But true,” Matts insists with a smile. “Your hair makes you look like a wet kitten, your eyes are not as pretty as Willy’s and your mouth is too big for your face.”

 

Mitch flips him off again, because it’s not like he doesn't know he’s not as attractive as Willy, but it’s not very nice of Matts to go into such excruciating details.

 

“Make sure you let Willy now that,” Mitch says and makes to get up, and possibly get the hell out of Dodge, but Matts grabs him by the arm.

 

“And yet,” Matts continues like Mitch hasn't spoken, “it’s not Willy’s hair, eyes or mouth who made me wonder about guys, either.”

 

Mitch flops down into the couch again, and the sudden movement brings him closer to Matts that they’ve been thus far.

 

The gazelle-and-lion show Mitch’s stomach had going a couple of night ago is back on, although the flies have mercifully decided to take a break. Mitch swallows against the tightness of his throat, at a loss for words, because this is truly unexpected. It’s one thing to think about it logically and jokingly discuss it with Davo. It’s another thing all together to be presented with the possibility of doing something about it.

 

“Say something,” Matts urges him, and Mitch realizes Matts is _terrified_. Mitch doesn't want for Matts to ever be scared of him, so he grabs one of his hands in his and squeezes reassuringly.

 

“I have no clue what to say, Auston,” he admits softly.

 

Matts smiles ruefully. “That’s a first.”

 

Mitch rolls his eyes and doesn't let go of Matts, who intertwines his fingers with Mitch’s.

 

“Baby steps, here,” Mitch says taking a deep breath and trying to channel Davo, because they need to be careful with each other about this.

 

“Okay,” Matts agrees, and settles down, prepared to listen, like Mitch has a fucking clue what they’re doing.

 

“We’ve both thought about having sex with guys,” he begins, and Matts nods quickly.

 

“More specifically, we have both thought about having sex with each other,” Mitch adds, and Matts agrees again.

 

“It sounds I’ve been thinking about it for longer than you have,” Matts specifies, like it’s a fucking race.

 

“If you’d told me you routinely get propositioned for threesomes, I might have jump on the band-wagon sooner. Instead, you told Willy, which did nothing for you,” Mitch points out.

 

“There is that,” Matts acknowledges.

 

“Right,” Mitch says. “Anyway, the question is whether we want to do something about this now. Because, seriously Matts, I haven’t gone further than bore Davo to tears with my mooning over some of your more impressive … assets.”

 

Matts doesn't blush—Mitch suspects it’s because he’s quite used to his physical traits being extolled upon. He does look flattered by Mitch’s subtle praises, however. Until what Mitch said actually registers.

 

“Davo?” he repeats. “You told Davo about this, too?”

 

“It was Davo or Stromer, Matty,” Mitch says patiently. “I went with the non-nuclear option.”

 

Matts thinks about that for a second, before saying, “Davo is going to sick Lucic on me next time we play the Oilers.”

 

“Davo will do nothing of the kind if he knows what’s good for him,” Mitch says firmly, because he’s got leverage and he’s not afraid of using it. “And focus, Matts. We’re trying to figure out if we are going to have sex.”

 

“Oh,” Matts says with a smirk, which shouldn't be attractive at all. “As far as I’m concerned we are going to have plenty of sex.”

 

Mitch slaps him on the shoulder with his free hand, the other still in Matts’ strong grip.

 

“Do you even have an idea of how to go about that? Because I’ve been too busy trying not to freak out to look things up.”

 

Matts furrows his forehead. “I don't want you freaked out about having sex with me,” he says worriedly.

 

“That’s not what concerns me, Matty,” Mitch explains. “I just don't want to mess us up, you know? We’re such good friends, and I’ve had sex with friends before, I mean girl friends, and it was fine. But you’re my best friend on the team, and as much as I want you, I don't want to ruin us just because of some abstract desire to explore gay sex.”

 

“That’s why I told Willy, but not you, about the threesomes,” Matts confesses, passing a hand through his hair. Mitch is relieved Matts shares his concerns, to be honest. It means he cares. “Still, I want to try.”

 

Mitch looks at him for a few seconds, and Matts stares back calmly.

 

“Baby steps,” Mitch repeats, and pulls himself up so that his face is closer to Matts’.

 

For his part, Matts catches on with the program and, after letting go of Mitch, he raises his arms and cradles Mitch’s faces in his hands. It’s a gentle gesture, meant to reassure rather than seduce, and Mitch appreciates it, because this, too, shows that Matts cares about him. About them. And this matters a lot, because Matts sleeps with plenty of people, and Mitch is a serial monogamist, so they’re different in this.

 

Mitch tilts his head to the right and sees Matts doing the same. Then, without trying to think about it too much, he leans forward and kisses Matts.

 

Matts’ lips are soft if a bit chapped—the natural consequence of living in Toronto in January. Mitch nudges Matts’ lips apart gently, because if they’re doing this, they need to see if they’re actually squeamish about it. By the noises Matts is making, Mitch doesn't think squeamishness is going to factor in whatever their relationship is turning into.

 

It doesn't take long for Matts to deepen the kiss and to take control of it, because the guy is not capable of sitting in the passenger seat unless it’s an actual car and Mitch is driving. Matts’ left hand is suddenly in Mitch’s hair, while the right one finds its way under Mitch’s hoodie and t-shirt—it’s such a commentary on who they are as people that they’re seducing each other in Leaf sweatpants and old Team America and Team Canada shirts.

 

Mitch grabs onto Matts’ massive shoulders and holds on for dear life when Matts begin nibbling on his lips and then nipping a line of soft kisses along his jaws and his neck. It’s his turn to moan, now, and he’s even louder when Matts picks him up and sets him across his legs.

 

“Jesus,” Mitch murmurs, because he’s never been intimate with someone who’s bigger than him, and it’s a fucking turn-on.

 

Matts mumbles something which might be approval at Mitch’s enthusiasm or at his new position on top of him, but Mitch doesn't pay too much attention to that, since he’s got better things to do, like biting Matts’ earlobe—and look at that, erogenous zone number one found.

 

Matts moves under him, and Mitch has a close encounter with Matts’ dick, now cozily nested under Mitch’s ass.

 

Mitch pauses for a second to listen to himself, to figure out if he’s okay. Matts doesn't let go, but stops trying to take Mitch apart at the seam with his mouth.

 

“Okay?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch confirms looking Matts straight in the eyes. They’re really amazing eyes—dark, and deep and so kind and attentive when they focus on Mitch.

 

It occurs to Mitch that’s how Matts has always looked at him, with kindness. It’s a heady feeling, to know that Mitch evokes only positive emotions in Auston Matthews.

 

“Are you okay?” Mitch hastens to make sure.

 

“More than,” Matts smiles softly.

 

“Do you want to continue?” Mitch asks, because he does, but this is too big a change for the two of them.

 

“As long as you do, Mitch,” Matts says reassuringly.

 

Mitch smiles happily and goes back to kissing Matts with more enthusiasm than finesse.

 

Matts laughs in the kiss, and Mitch thinks it’s so them it’s endearing—to be so confortable with each other that they can laugh even when they’re trying to have sex with a guy for the first time ever.

 

In short order, Mitch’s hoodie and t-shirt and Matts’ long-sleeves are on the floor, and Mitch is busy exploring the expanse of Matts’ back, while Matts is lying on top of him, his hips grinding down into Mitch’s.

 

After another long kiss, Matts moves his attention to Mitch’s neck and starts sucking what is going to turn into an impressive hickey with much enthusiasm. Mitch whimpers in Matts’ shoulder and buckles his hips upwards, not even bothering to tell Matts to be careful with marks. Fuck it, he’s going to withstand a week worth of chirping if it gets him to feel this good.

 

Matts pulls back to look at Mitch, and his eyes are wild, his face is flushed and his hair is in disarray because of Mitch’s hands.

 

“Mitch,” Matts says, and it sounds like a question and a demand at the same time.

 

“Do it,” Mitch tells him, and without waiting, he moves so he can get his pants, socks and underwear off. Matts does the same and then they’re staring at each other.

 

And well. It’s not the first time that Mitch has seen Matts naked—they’ve shared a locker-room for more than a year, and they’ve shared rooms for almost as long. Yet, this is different: this is Matts aroused, his full attention focused on Mitch, stomach and legs taut, pre-cum leaking from his cock.

 

“Jesus, fuck, Auston,” Mitch whispers.

 

Matts caresses Mitch’s inner thighs gently, studying the reaction the soft touch has on Mitch’s cock.

 

“Auston,” Mitch whines, and then, impatient, he pulls him down and brings their bodies together. This is not the time to be sophisticated, especially considering that neither of them really has any experience in the matter.

 

“I was enjoying the view,” Matts mutters, but he doesn't resist Mitch.

 

“You can enjoy the view later, after we’ve come a couple of times.”

 

“Ambitious plans, Marns,” Matts comments while grinding their hips together.

 

“We’re twenty years old. I’m not ambitious, I’m realistic.”

 

Matts doesn't respond, but repeats his hip-motion. It’s almost painful, which reminds Mitch they might want to think about investing in some lube.

 

When he suggests that to Matts, he gets an interested look. “That’s a really good idea. You see,” Matts pants, not willing to give up the grinding—Mitch can’t blame him, it feels good even if it’s a bit uncomfortable—, “we’re gonna figure this out really fast.”

 

Mitch shuts him up with another kiss and it doesn't take long for Matts to come all over Mitch’s stomach after that. Mitch is not far behind, Matts’ come helping making things easier for him.

 

Afterwards, with Matts lying on top of him, Mitch enjoys one hell of an afterglow while caressing Matts’ back. Matts tangles their fingers together once again and presses a soft kiss on Mitch’s temple before resting his head on Mitch’s chest. They stay like that, in silence, for a long time, their breaths synchronized, their bodies glue together by spit, come and sweat, neither of them willing to let go.

 

It occurs to Mitch that this is not just a Matts thing. It is a Matts _Thing_.

 

***

 

Nothing changes, even if everything does. In the next several weeks, Mitch trains, plays, eats, sleeps and hangs out with his teammates. He goes home to visit his parents when he has some free times, he Snapchats with Stromer and Crouser and he texts with his brother. The Leafs win some, and lose some, although they’re in a much better place by the end of February than they were the year before. Which is good, because it makes the locker-room more livable, it keeps Babs happy, and it makes people deal with the whole Olympics disaster more easily.

 

Mitch also has a lot of sex with Matts. Like, a lot. Matts orders several types of lube from an online store Mitch has never heard of and pay for overnight delivery. They spend quite a bit of time figuring out which one works best. For now they’re limiting to handjobs and rubbing, so the lube comes in handy even if they’re not being particularly adventurous.

 

They are surprisingly open with each other, considering they’re bros who fuck. Matts tells Mitch he is not ready to explore oral just yet, and Mitch reassures him it’s fine. It’s not like the sex isn’t awesome as is.

 

As for Mitch, after the initial adjustment period, he begins pondering whether it’s premature to discuss exclusivity. Because this is his life, now, he calls Davo to ask for advice.

 

“I’m really touched, Marns,” Davo comments when Mitch explains the situation, “but you know I’m like you in this. You’re better off asking Stromer if it’s too early for that.”

 

“He’s going to say that it is,” Mitch whines.

 

“Then you can assume Matts is probably going to have a similar answer,” Davo says gently.

 

“You’re no help at all, Davo,” Mitch says even if it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to navigate his new relationship with Matts without his friend’s quiet support. Davo hasn't even told Stromer yet, because he doesn't Stromer to bother Mitch during the honeymoon phase—Davo’s words.

 

“Talk to him, Marns,” Davo insists. “It’s worked so far.”

 

So Mitch does, and Matts looks at him like he’s insane.

 

“Who else am I going to sleep with?” he asks Mitch, like Mitch would know.

 

“I mean,” Mitch says, “you always pick up on the road…”

 

“But we’re doing this thing,” Matts observes, which is kind of Mitch’s point, so he shouldn’t be surprised that Matts shares Mitch’s view.

 

“I know, I know,” Mitch hastens to reassure him.

 

“Do you want to sleep with other people?” Matts asks worriedly.

 

Mitch is grateful they’re having this conversation at Matts’ place and not in the car—at least he’s had the foresight to wait until they were home to talk.

 

“Of course not!” he shrieks. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Because you just asked me not to,” Matts answers.

 

“Because you hook-up like it’s an Olympic sport,” Mitch says indignant.

 

“Not when I’m dating someone, I don't,” Matts huffs offended.

 

“I never saw you dating anyone since I’ve met you,” Mitch defends himself.

 

“Then what the hell are we doing?” Matts asks him, raising the tone of his voice.

 

Mitch looks at him totally flabbergasted, before blurting out, in his usual fashion, “Having our first fight?”

 

Matts deflates back on the couch—it’s always the couch, because that’s their place; they’ve had sex on the couch more often than they’ve had in either of their beds.

 

Mitch gets up to pace around and let loose of his nervous energy, and then returns to sit near Matts.

 

“I am sorry,” he says. “I shouldn't have assumed.”

 

“Neither should I,” Matts says with a rueful smile.

 

“It’s fine,” Mitch says. “Just to clear things up, so we don't need to have this conversation again, we’re dating.”

 

“That’s what I thought we were doing,” Matts grumbles.

 

“And it’s totally fine with me,” Mitch says. “It’s why I brought up the not-sleeping-with-other-people thing.”

 

“Okay,” Matts says.

 

“But, Matts, you get why I’m surprised, right? Until four weeks ago, we were just friends. Now we’re, like, getting ready to order matching towels or something.”

 

Matts rolls his eyes at Mitch like the awful friend he is. “It’s us, Marns. What exactly were you expecting?”

 

Mitch looks at him and has to admit that’s a good point. Him and Matts have always been super chill with each other—no drama, no fuss, lots of laughter and chirping. Most importantly, they’ve always gotten each other on a deep level. Just because Matts has had longer than Mitch to figure this shit out doesn't mean that Mitch can’t get on with the program.

 

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Mitch concedes, climbing on Matts’ lap—one of his favorite places in the world, of late.

 

“That’s good to know,” Matts says with a soft smile. “Could you repeat it in front of the team, so they all know how awesome I am?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Mitch promises. “You already get way too many pats on the back as things stand.”

 

Then, he leans in to kiss Matts’ smirk away, and proceeds to showing him the results of some research he’s done on line about sleights of hands. By the end of the exercise, Matts is panting and sweaty, and it’s Mitch who has a satisfied smirk on his face.

 

“You’re such a fucking show-off,” Matts tells him.

 

“You knew this going it,” Mitch admits cheerfully.

 

“No shit,” Matts laughs. “You need to show me how to do it.”

 

“My sexual expertise is at your disposal,” Mitch says waggling his eyebrows.

 

Matts slaps him on the butt but doesn't complain about it, which Mitch takes as a win.

 

***

 

Mitch has finally gotten around ordering a decent couch for his living room by the time the regular season is winding down. He figured him and Matts needed a decent place to sit when at Mitch’s place, and, quite frankly, Mitch is a bit sick of his half empty apartment. Not that he’s going to spend a lot of time there in the near future, what with the playoffs coming up. Still, he has the money and the motivation, so he can get a fucking couch to go with it.

 

He’s lying on said couch, the TV showing the Coyotes game and in particular Stromer tearing it up and down the ice like a demon even if his team is out of the playoffs, when he gets a text.

 

_U home?_ Davo asks.

 

_Yeah,_ Mitch responds puzzled.

 

The Oilers made it through as well, and they don't have a game tonight, but Davo usually goes MIA once this part of the season comes around—he did it even when they played against each other in the O. He just gets so focused on hockey that nothing else matters.

 

“Who is it?” Matts asks from the other side of the couch. He’s reading a book—which, really, when Mitch discovered Matts reads books he laughed for a week, until Matts pointed out quite sharply that they’re not going to be 20-year-old hockey players forever.

 

“It’s Davo. I think he wants to talk,” Mitch says, and indeed, the phone rings.

 

“I didn't say I was free,” Mitch grumbles once he’s picked up.

 

“What would you be doing?” Davo asks sarcastically. “I sure as hell hope you’re not thinking of going partying right before the first round.”

 

“I could be having sex with Matts,” Mitch says.

 

Matts chokes on his spit, although by now he should be used to the fact that Davo knows way more about their relationship than necessary.

 

“Nonsense,” Davo objects. “You guys need to concentrate on getting through the first round. Auston has too much brain to waste energy right now.”

 

“I assure you that Auston has enough energy to multitask even during the playoffs,” Mitch comments with a smirk.

 

Said Auston goes as red as a beet and whispers, “Stop talking about that with McDavid.”

 

Davo must hear him, however, because he asks, “Is he there? Great, he might be able to help me.”

 

“With what?” Mitch says confused, because Davo has yet to explain why he called.

 

“Put me on speaker,” Davo orders him, and Mitch rolls his eyes but obeys. It’s the whole McJesus thing, unfortunately. Davo says ‘Jump’ and you ask ‘How high’. Luckily Davo doesn't abuse of it.

 

“Matts,” Davo says once Mitch has pressed the right buttons on his phone.

 

“Davo,” Matts responds, “what’s up?”

 

“I hear you’re the resident expert on threesomes,” Davo cuts to the chase.

 

“What?” Matts says, even more embarrassed than before. “No, I’m not! What has Mitch been telling you?”

 

Mitch is giggling hysterically, because this has the potential of becoming a wonderful story for after they all retire.

 

“Shut up, Mitch,” Auston says furious, but Mitch can’t help it.

 

“Ignore Marns, Matts,” Davo says, clearly unbothered by the whole thing. That’s the level of comfort they’ve acquired since Mitch stumbled upon Matts having sex with someone months ago.

 

“It’s really difficult when he’s right in front of me doing a great impression of a hyena,” Matts grumbles, sending Mitch a withering look.

 

Mitch makes a kissy face, buy Davo interrupts him quickly. “Guys, I need some help here, so if you could please focus?”

 

“You need help with threesomes?” Matts asks looking at Mitch like Mitch would know what the fuck is going on. “Because I’m really not an expert, in spite of Marns’ blabbers.”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Davo says. “Still, you know more than anyone else I’m comfortable discussing this with.”

 

Mitch raises his eyebrows in surprise. For all that Davo has been listening to Mitch’s retelling of his love life, he hasn't shared anything—it’s still Davo-and-sex, after all, so not something that goes naturally in the same sentence. So, if Davo is calling Mitch right before the beginning of the playoff season to discuss something like this, things might be dire indeed.

 

Mitch tries to convey the severity of the situation to Matts without saying anything. Matts must get it, because he steels his features in grim determination. Mitch figures that, as uncomfortable as this might turn out to be, they owe Davo more than they can ever repay, and Matts knows that.

 

Mitch sends him a grateful smile and Matts smiles back and then grabs Mitch’s hand so that he can drag him where he is. He positions Mitch neatly between his legs and makes the two of them cozy on the couch.

 

“We’re listening, Davo.”


End file.
